There is something that reveals itself in Fyr’s molten eyes as she names him the embodiment of fear. It’s only visible for a moment - she is lucky enough to catch it on the tail end of her eye roll - but whatever it is behind that special gleam, it’s enough for her breath to catch in her throat and for the distant coyotes to disappear into the background like long-forgotten music. In that moment, there is only Fyr and the glow they share.

When it fades in his eyes, Lillibet can still picture the expression in her mind. Her earlier blush threatens to rise against her alabaster cheeks once more, but their conversation suddenly turns and it is no longer a moment fit for coquetry or humor. She feels drawn to him, teetering there with indecision as she gazes upon the area of his shoulder that she might press her ivory frame against in comfort, were she bolder. The desire catches her unprepared. Their shared trauma creates a connection that the bygone Sylvan princess may never have experienced had the Southern kingdom not perished beneath Beqanna’s sea.

I know who you are.

He says it so knowingly that Lillibet can’t help the smile that returns to her face, pressing up the corners of her pouted mouth the tiniest bit. Part of her had expected him to know of her family, of course. The South was not as large as it seemed, and her mother had held the crown for many years. But to hear him say he knows of her and not just her parents fosters a bit of pride in the alabaster woman. “Oh?” is all she inquires in response, granting him the opportunity to build on the statement as the flames that linger along his spine and in the air around them flicker and roil.

Her offer is met with a question dripping with the banter and jest that has swiftly grown familiar, allowing them both to slip back into playful grins and away from their brief vulnerability. She will tell him about her own family and their absence in time, but for now she cannot bring herself to say the words aloud. She has done it many times at this point, as reiterated their absence to all who would listen in hopes they had seen any of the three. But no one had. And now she is tired, so tired, of searching and searching.

Their shared trauma can wait.

For now, she debates briefly on telling him why she is here, exploring the canyons in the middle of the night. It doesn’t take her long to decide, though her response to his inquiry does not lack amusement. “A princess may request you live in this place when she makes it her own.” Her golden eyes watch his reaction carefully, for he is the first she’s voiced her intentions to aside from Herrin. The first who could hold it against her, or try to steal it away.

And with the flames that surround her, she knows he could do just that.

“Lillibet,” she finally grants him with a tuck of her chin to her narrow chest.

Under the microscope of Fyr’s saffron eyes, Lillibet thrives. She meets his analytical gaze directly, her amusement ever-present as she remains silent in the time he mulls over her name. Lilybee, he finally decides and she lifts a brow at the nickname and his accompanying smarmy grin. She’d never been given a nickname - from someone outside her family, at least. It feels more intimate than she would have expected, though she assumes that is regularly the case with the moonlit stallion. There is an intensity to him that could only ever feel passionate, intimate, and vulnerable. She thinks to herself that she could grant him a nickname in return if only Fire and Fear were not so perfect for him already.

If the fire-wielder is surprised at her confession, he does an impressive job of hiding it. He would not be the only one, though, if he were - her intentions surprise even herself. The thought of ruling has never called to her. It has not ever enticed her with the promise of a crown and throne. Diplomacy, all in all, is boring. Of course, her parents had always coaxed her and Link to follow whatever path they had wanted, though she knew Oceane held a certain amount of pride in navigating politics.

It’s not that deep for Lillibet.

Fyr questions her again, this time with a trio of inquiries that grow more and more philandering. A small bout of laughter falls from her lips as she shakes her head, causing her lilac-accented mane to dance across her neck. “Only the dangerous ones,” she responds coyly, ‘And I would only require a furnace in the winter months. You’d be free to roam the rest of the time.”

But why Pangea? She debates on this question, too, and takes a few moments to gaze at Fyr, her pupils narrowed as she searches his yellow eyes. Ultimately, she decides that there’s no true harm in sharing her thoughts with this random man she’d met in the middle of Beqanna’s witching hour. Not harmful enough to deter her, anyway.

“Poetic justice, I suppose. My mother and older brother were once held captive in Pangea.” A pause, and then: “And if they are still alive, I’d like a place they can come home to.”

Because their last one rests beneath the sea, golden leaves caught in the current.

For as swiftly as it comes and goes, Lillibet does not miss the glint in Fyr’s saffron eyes or the way he swings his head just so to create a curtain that briefly obscures his handsome face from her. She is confused, though, when the tone of his question does not bite when paired with that sharp glance, nor does it foster any unpleasantry. Was the look one borne of jealousy at her jest, that she had invited others to stay the night? Lillibet doubts that very much. Or was it how easily she had called him dangerous? If Ledger had taught her anything, it was that having the capability to harm someone did not inherently mean that person was dangerous.

She wonders at its source for a long moment, neither rushing to answer his question or refusing to do so. Instead, she waits patiently for the fire-wielder to return his gaze to her where she secures it with a casual, dismissive shrug. “I’m attracted to proving that I can survive dangerous things.” That she, without magical abilities to protect her, can navigate this world without fear.

Well, without showing her fear.

Her self-imposed shame at being nearly-traitless lives on, and this is, perhaps, the closest she will come to discussing it outwardly with some who isn’t Link. And all it took was the comfort of the witching hour and a man who glows just as she does beneath the canyon’s moon. If only she had known her assessment of him had been the reason behind his change, the former Princess might have then found the courage to comfort him with the touch of her soft muzzle, and prove that she had not meant it out of fear.

And if I refuse?

Her pensiveness departs with an amused snort of her flared nostrils, thankful for the return of his intensity. “I don’t think you will,” she answers matter of factly before mulling over whether or not to leave it at that. After a moment, she decides to add: “But I will not hold it against you if you do. All I ask is that you remember me in the winter months, when I have inevitably frozen to death in a cave.”